


Date Night

by Dbaw3



Series: Focal Point [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, Feminization, M/M, Multi, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Spanking, Werewolves are kinky, consent is king, stiles is pack bitch, stilinskicest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 10:03:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17180873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dbaw3/pseuds/Dbaw3
Summary: Jackson, John is about to learn, has more than one kink.So does John, he's about to figure out.





	Date Night

It was a pretty typical morning in the Stilinski household. John woke up to the sensation of his son blowing him until he shot his first cum load of the day straight down his throat. After taking care of the other morning necessities, then his shower, he joined Stiles downstairs for his breakfast.

Stiles was refilling his coffee cup when he saw it: a flash of red peeking out between the top of his jeans and the shirt he was wearing. John would have thought it was just a new pair of underwear, hardly worth noticing, except they seemed oddly shiny.

Stiles started to move away from the counter, but John hooked his fingers in one of his belt loops.

“Whoa, there,” he said, and pulled him closer, putting a hand down past the waist to feel satin and lace. “What’s this?”

“Dad, you’re going to be late,” Stiles tried to divert and wiggle away.

“I’m not going to be late if you just answer the question,” John said, his hand reaching further in to feel his son’s hip through the surprisingly erotic feel of what appeared to be panties.

Stiles sighed, and set down the coffeepot on the table. “Jackson,” he said, as if that were all the explanation needed.

Really, at this point, it was. 

“Honestly,” Stiles continued sipping at his coffee, “they feel kind of ni–whoa!” he said suddenly, as John yanked down his jeans quickly and started to rub himself against his son’s satin-covered ass. “You really are going to be late,” Stiles pointed out, somewhat breathless, as he put his coffee down and clutched at the counter, bending over.

John was busily opening up his own pants, sighing when he finally freed his erection to slip bare against the panties Stiles was wearing. He shifted the crotch aside, and rubbed at the hole waiting there, loving the gasp Stiles gave as he did so. 

“I can be late,” he said, and rubbed his cockhead against his son’s asshole.

*

John watched Jackson more closely after that. He didn’t seem to treat Stiles any differently, except he did seem to be reaching up under Stiles’ kilt more and more, rubbing what John knew were panties of varying colors and compositions.

And John noticed more and more panties appearing in the shared wash after that. He couldn’t say he minded. There was something oddly comforting in having lacy and satiny things in the wash again, and he’d discovered that Stiles looked shockingly sexy in them. And he knew he’d edged around this kind of play with Stiles already, how much they both enjoyed calling Stiles' asshole his pussy, and it wasn’t that John thought Stiles looked particularly feminine in women’s clothing, but something about them against his pale skin…

It all took another tip about a week after John first discovered Stiles wearing panties under his jeans, when he got home to find Jackson sitting on the couch, looking bored and flipping through their cable.

None of this was particularly unusual, though Jackson wasn’t normally there if he wasn’t actively fucking Stiles. What was unusual was when he realized Stiles was standing facing the corner, wearing a skirt, panties pulled down to mid-thigh and skirt held up to expose his very pink, obviously just-spanked ass to the room. 

“What happened here?” John asked, mouth suddenly dry.

“Little bitch was acting up,” Jackson said, with more bravado than his casual tone would imply, John thought. “So she got a spanking and some corner time until she learns how to behave.”

As usual, John had two instantly conflicting urges. One was to check on Stiles to make sure he was okay. It had taken a while, but he’d learned to trust Stiles, that he would say no when something happened he didn’t like or was asked to do something he really didn’t want to do. The other urge was to go over and feel the heat on his son’s cheeks and sink his cock in there, feel those panties against his balls as he fucked into his son.

John took a breath and stopped. He figured if Jackson had wanted some alone-time, he would have taken Stiles into his room and not staged this out in the livingroom for others to see, but that didn’t mean John wanted to horn in on whatever he had planned for Stiles, so he just said, “Nice color you got on her.”

Jackson’s shoulders relaxed, finally showing how tense he’d been waiting to see if John was going to freak out at him.

“She’s got a pale ass,” Jackson said. “It’d still be pale if she’d been a good girl.” 

John had moved closer and at an angle so he could see Stiles’ face, under the guise of admiring the color. Which he was doing, but he also noticed Stiles rolling his eyes, while keeping his face turned into the corner. John also noticed Stiles’ hard cock. 

John took that as a good sign, and turned to go lock his gun away and get changed for the evening, leaving the boys to it.

He did curse himself a little for the missed opportunity when he came back to find Scott had come in and was now fucking into his best friend, who was still standing in the corner, saying, “Fuck, Stiles!” while Jackson looked on amused, palming himself through his pants.

He should have gotten some when he had the chance.

From then on, Jackson was coming over more often, usually with some outfit he wanted Stiles to wear which he was happy to show John. One was a school girl uniform, complete with blouse and pleated skirt; once there was a sexy nurse outfit. There was also a sexy witch, a sexy lawyer, a sexy firefighter, and sexy cop. Pretty much it looked like Jackson was purchasing every “costume” in Frederick’s of Hollywood. 

And Stiles seemed to mind none of it. Also, weirdly, Jackson seemed to be far less, well, dickish since starting the whole thing. Though he did hear Stiles at least once say, “Fine, I’ll put on the bra, but I’m drawing the line at magic boobs!”

“I thought maybe he was trying to justify banging a dude,” Stiles told him one night as he climbed into bed with John, still wearing the red satin panties he’d had on all day, as John was noticing he was doing more and more. “Now I think he honestly just enjoys the feeling. It’s like he doesn’t want to look at my cock, but he can’t keep his hands off it if there’s lace wrapped around it.” Stiles gave a shrug as he settled down on John’s shoulder. “Whatever. He’s been a lot nicer to me lately, anyway.” Stiles paused. “At least when he’s not spanking me.”

John snorted and slapped Stiles’ lightly on one panty clad cheek. “Yeah, we all know how much you ‘hate’ being spanked,” he said. Stiles snorted in what was dangerously close to a giggle.

And it was true, as well. John had come in on more than one spanking since that first day of finding Stiles in the corner. And he’d seen Stiles come more than once from just having his ass spanked, too, usually when Peter was doing it. (Peter and Jackson seemed to have gotten into a competition of who could get Stiles’ ass redder before Stiles called uncle.) There was no doubt Stiles enjoyed it.

There was also no doubt that John wanted desperately to put his own color on Stiles’ cheeks, too. He felt the urge more and more, his palms almost itching with the urge to lay themselves in earnest on Stiles’ ass. But something always held him back.

Weirdly, as much of a hellion Stiles had been as a kid, John had never disciplined that way. He’d thought about it, but he swore to himself he’d never raise his hand to his child in anger. And even though he knew this would be in anything but anger, he still found himself hesitating.

About a week later, Stiles came home from school and told John, “Jackson has something planned. Just go with it,” then quickly ran up to his room and closed the door. John really wished he knew how nervous he should be.

Apparently not as nervous as Jackson looked, who came to the door dressed in a suit and said, “Sheriff, I’m here for Stiles?”

“Sure,” John said slowly, drawing the word out, as he let the boy in. “Stiles,” John called up the stairs, suspecting what he his role was supposed to be. “Your…Jackson’s here.”

There was a thump and a “Just a minute” shouted back down, which left John and Jackson standing awkwardly for more than a minute.

“So,” John said finally, when it looked like Jackson wasn’t going to say anything. “What are you kids up to tonight?”

“Oh, just dinner and…stuff,” Jackson said. He was definitely uncharacteristically fidgety here. “I promise to have her home by 10, sir,” he assured him, as if he expected John to get out his shotgun to protect Stiles’ virtue.

Since he’d not shot Jackson the first time he came home to find him fucking Stiles on the dining room table, demanding Stiles beg him to keep fucking his pretty cunt, John thought it was unlikely he’d do it over a broken, early, pretty much non-existent curfew, but he said, “Okay,” anyway.

“Hi, Jackson,” a soft voice came from the stairs, and they both turned to see Stiles slowly walking down.

“Huh,” John said, and stared at his son. Who no longer looked like his son. While Stiles hadn’t gone overboard, there was no doubting the effect he was trying to create.

Stiles was dressed perfectly, passably as a girl, from the top of his blonde wig to the tips of his modest kitten-heel pumps. A nice sweater (which, if magic boobs were off the table, included an artfully stuffed bra underneath) and modest if nice skirt completed the look. As did some shockingly subtle make-up, which suddenly explained the amount of time Stiles had been spending up in his room with the girls, turning away any and all knocks from the male members of the Pack with “Oh, my god, just play with yourself for once!”

The truth was, Stiles was…pretty. Not beautiful in any traditional sense, but definitely pretty with his big eyes and perfectly lipsticked mouth. John felt an odd mix of arousal and protectiveness all at once.

Jackson actually broke out into a smile John had never seen on the boy. “You look great,” he said, almost shyly. 

Stiles honest to god blushed–which John DEFINITELY hadn’t seen in years–and lowered his eyes demurely. “Thank you,” he said softly. 

John noticed the slight widening of eyes as Stiles glanced down and happened to look at John’s crotch, his own burgeoning erection there.

But instead of commenting, Stiles stretched up as if on his tiptoes (and how he managed that illusion when he was the same height as John, John had no idea) and kissed John on the cheek. “Goodnight, Daddy,” he said, and took Jackson’s arm, who led them out the door. 

“Huh,” was all John could manage to think as he watched Jackson not only open the car door for Stiles and gently settle him in, before rounding the car to get in himself, all while rubbing his hands nervously on his pants, as if they were sweaty from nerves.

Even stranger, though, was that as the time ticked closer and closer to 10 and Stiles remained out, he found himself pacing and twitching back the curtains, as if he really were the anxious father waiting for his virginal daughter to get home from a date with a boy. 

And he had to stop himself several times throughout the evening and breathe, and remember Stiles was his son, not his daughter, and about as far from virginal as anyone could be at this point. He was Pack Bitch. A couple of days ago, he’d watched Jackson spank Stiles until he came across his lap. Yesterday, Derek in wolf form had dragged Stiles (grumbling) from room to room of this house by his knot. This morning, John himself had not only fucked him in the bed they shared, but had pissed down his throat before John had gotten up to take a shower. 

And yet, he couldn’t help the feeling of relief when he heard Jackson’s car pulling into the driveway at 10:30. He found himself rushing to the front door and peering out to see Jackson kissing his little g–Stiles in the front seat, as if it were the end of a real date. He also found himself flicking the porch lights off and on, as if this were some Sandra Dee movie.

John retreated to the living room doorway as he heard Stiles make it to the door, When Stiles came in, it was with his wig and clothing just slightly askew, his pumps in his hands, and a bemused expression on his face.

Stiles closed the front door and sighed, then said in his normal voice, not the quiet, slightly husky feminine voice of earlier, “Well, that was surreal.”

John was sure that was an understatement. It was still surreal to him. But he cleared his throat and said, “What did you kids get up to?”

Stiles shrugged, taking off his wig. “Oh, we went over to dinner in Harrison, then drove up to Lookout Point,” he said casually.

Harrison was a couple of towns over, less likely for anyone either of them knew to run into them, John figured. And Lookout Point was the usual makeout (and other things) spot for the local teens. From the state of Stiles, John was pretty sure, he’d gotten more than just some kisses up there.

“So,” John said slowly. “It was a…date?”

Stiles smirked and shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much. Look, thanks for going along with it, Dad. Jackson’s been planning this for weeks, wanting to see if I could pass in public.”

John suspected it might be a little more than just that, considering the genuine nerves Jackson seemed to be displaying, but he kept that to himself.

“You know, it was kind of fun, too,” Stiles was continuing as he walked towards the stairs. “Being a girl and making out with her boyfriend in public. Not something I want to do all the time, but still. We’ll see if Jackson wants to do it again sometime. Night, Dad,” he said as he went into the bathroom.

“Huh,” John said, and was left there with a very confused erection and a lot of thoughts.

The next morning was Saturday, and John woke up grumpy. He admitted that probably had something to do with Stiles not being in his bed when he went to turn in and wasn’t there when he woke up. It wasn’t the first time both of those things happened in the last year, but normally even if Stiles wasn’t there when he went to bed, he normally was there to wake him up in the best possible way. But instead of waking up to his son’s wonderful mouth or ass stroking along his length, he woke up to a cold and empty bed, a hard-on, and a full bladder, with no way to relieve any of those things.

He passed Stiles’ room on the way to the bathroom, and hesitated for a moment at the still-closed door. He thought about knocking, but decided even a Pack Bitch deserved his privacy and alone time now and then. He tried not to feel too sorry for himself as he moved on to the bathroom to take care of his bladder, but he still allowed himself to pout a little while reflecting that relieving himself in a warm mouth was a lot more pleasant way to start the day, rather than cold tile and porcelain. 

Once he’d flushed and washed his hands, he woke up enough to note the smell of coffee and bacon. And not turkey bacon, either, actual honest to god BACON.

Walking cautiously down the stairs (it could still be a trick of some kind), he turned the corner and stopped in his tracks at the door to the kitchen.

There Stiles was in at the stove, as expected, but instead of his normal sleep pants and t-shirt, he was wearing a white button down blouse and short red skirt. He was also wearing different kitten-heel shoes from last night, this pair matching the red skirt. His make-up was once again perfect and subtle, though he had forgone the wig this morning.

And John felt his morning hardon, which had eased once he’d relieved himself, come back in to full hardness instantly.

“Good morning, Daddy,” Stiles said in a cheerful (more cheerful than he normally was this time of the morning) version of that same feminine voice he’d used with Jackson last night, and came over to give John a good morning kiss.

John was still slightly stunned, even as he let his son kiss him, the faint taste of coffee and lipstick transferred on the brief if flirty touch of lips to lips Stiles smiled at him, even as he slung his arms around his father’s neck.

“You have another date with Jackson today?” John asked, cautiously and still a bit grumpy, not sure what Stiles was up to.

“Nope,” Stiles said, leaning over to give John another peck on the mouth, this one with a brief bit of tongue flicked against the seam of his lips before Stiles was pulling away. “I told everyone I want to have a special day with just you. Our own daddy-daughter day together,” he said, smiling coyly at John through his eyelashes.

Oh, thought John.

Oh.

He let his arms come around Stiles’ waist, settling there to feel the silkiness of Stiles’ blouse (which John noted he could now see a darker bra through underneath), and let himself say, “Oh, really. Does my little girl”–and he shivered as he let himself use the word–”have a plan for today?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Stiles hummed against his lips, another hint of tongue John allowed inside his mouth this time before Stiles pulled away and out of his arms all too soon. “But first you need to have your breakfast. You’ll want to keep your strength up,” Stiles said and giggled–full out giggled–as he made his way back to the stove.  
“Is that real bacon?” he let himself ask as his son–his daughter at the moment, he supposed–placed the breakfast plate in front of him, a steaming cup of coffee already there. 

“Just this once,” Stiles admonished with another kiss, before going back to get his–her own plate to bring it to the table. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Hm,” John said in response, going for the bacon first and nibbling it in case Stiles changed her mind. “So, exactly what did you get up to last night to earn me bacon this morning,” he said suspiciously.

“…Nothing,” Stiles said cautiously, innocence no more convincing on a feminine face than a masculine one. “I just wanted to show you I love you, Daddy.”

John hummed, amused and aroused by the whole game. It’s not like he assumed Stiles and Jackson were keeping it to holding hands and a little light necking in the car, but still….

John swallowed and said, “We’ll talk about this more about this later, young lady.” And again, he felt a little thrill, talking to Stiles that way, somehow more explicit than calling him a bitch when they were having sex.

But sex later. Bacon first.

After John finished his plate and sat back with a sigh. Stiles moved to clear their dishes and started to clean up.

“So what’s the plan?” John asked again, as Stiles came back to the table and (unnecessarily, John thought) reached across him to grab the mug from her own place at the table, putting her skirt-clad ass right in John’s face. In for a penny, he thought, and reached up a hand to touch Stiles’ bare and hairless (god, had he shaved all over?) thigh. “I certainly hope it doesn’t involve going out dressed like this,” he said, trying to cover how much he was turned on with an admonishing tone.

Stiles leaned back, but didn’t pull away from John, letting his hands wander up her thighs, almost to the bottom of the extremely high hem. Stiles looked down at him with an unconvincing pout.

“Don’t you like my skirt, Daddy?” she asked, looking hurt, but parting her thighs slightly to allow John’s hand to wander higher.

“Hm. Not very ladylike, is it?” John said, plainly, as he swept his hand up high enough to briefly touch Stiles’ balls through her panties underneath her skirt, causing her to gasp. “No daughter of mine is going out in public dressed like this.”

Stiles, now a little breathless as well as well as pitched highly, said, “It’s not that bad, Daddy. Lydia wears much shorter skirts to school.”

John tugged at Stiles’ arm, until she landed across his lap. She wasn’t light by any stretch, but he found the position oddly comfortable. “I don’t care what Lydia wears to school. My little girl isn’t going out looking like a slut. You’re not a slut, are you?” he asked her, and tried to contain a laugh when, like the night before, Stiles blushed.

“Of course not,” she huffed indignantly, though she spread her thighs as much as the skirt would allow, giving John’s hand access again. 

John decided to take her up on it, letting his hand roam up and down her thighs freely, though keeping it above the skirt for now, only brushing across the bulge now tenting the front of Stiles’ skirt, causing her to shiver. “You didn’t do anything last night with Jackson that would make you a slut, did you, baby girl?” he asked her, pointedly.

“…No,” Stiles said, and wriggled so that her ass rubbed against John’s groin, making him want to groan.

“So why don’t you tell me what you did do, honey?” John said, moving his hand just under Stiles skirt and stopping, just resting it there, just shy of touching pantied cock, waiting to see what story she would come up with.

Stiles nearly growled in frustration, almost breaking character, but then she swallowed and said in the same sweet voice, “Well, we went to dinner, like I said. Jackson was a perfect gentleman.”

“Mmm-hmm,” John said. He noted for the first time that Stiles’ nails were trimmed and rounded and painted an ever so faint shade of pink, almost nude, as she brought up her fingers to play with the neck of the t-shirt John had slept in. 

“And then we went for a drive. And then we came home,” Stiles said, finishing her story as if John would let it go.”

“And you drove up to Lookout Point,” John prompted, rubbing his hand on Stiles’ lower back where her blouse was tucked into her skirt. He noticed her breasts seemed bigger this morning than they were last night. “Breast forms” his mind supplied. Mmm, too bad about the “no magic boobs” embargo.

“We…may have. Briefly,” Stiles admitted, her breath coming in short gasps again as John resumed moving his hand between her legs, though he still avoided going too far up her skirt. 

“And did you go in the backseat with him?” John asked, moving his nose to just behind Stiles’ ear, smelling the faintly floral scent of the shampoo and skin cream she must have used this morning. 

“Yes, Daddy,” Stiles said, tilting her head to give John more access, and reaching down for John’s wrist, as if trying to guide his hand to her groin. John took advantage of one, kissing her throat lightly, while resisting the other. One or both made her groan.

“And did you let him touch you here?” John said, bringing his hand around from her back to cup her ‘breast’ through her blouse gently, rubbing at it.

“Yes, Daddy,” Stiles gasped, thrusting out her chest, offering herself to him.

“And did you let him see you down here?” he asked, and finally brought his hand between her legs up enough to brush her rock hard dick through her panties. 

“I..I may have, Daddy. Was that wrong?” she asked trying to grind up into his hand.

“It was very wrong, babygirl,” John said, moving his hand down and squeezing his daughter’s balls gently. “It was very slutty. Do you know what happens to sluts, honey?”

“What, Daddy?” she asked, squirming frantically in his lap making him groan again.

“They get punished,” he said, and firmly but gently pusher her off of his lap on wobbly legs as she whimpered at him. What he really wanted to do, more than anything, was to sweep Stiles up in his arms and carry her back to bed. But as his little girl was neither all that little or light, he saved them both the embarrassment of throwing his back out trying to do so and said instead, “Now go upstairs to my room and get yourself ready to take your punishment.”

Stiles whimpered again, but turned around and walked carefully but quickly on her little heels out of the room and up the stairs.

John took a minute to breathe deep before he followed. 

He wasn’t sure what he expected to find from his vague, “get ready to take your punishment” instructions, but he was pretty sure Stiles would rise to the occasion, and he wasn’t disappointed. When he entered his bedroom, he found Stiles kneeling over the side of the bed, her skirt raised up to her waist and her panties (bright pink with lace trim) pulled down just below the cheeks, her legs spread enough to give just a hint of the hole hiding between them. She was shaking just a little bit, almost as if in fear but more likely arousal, and John felt a surge of something, tenderness mixed with power, that he knew wouldn’t exist if the fear was real, but which caused his dick to throb nevertheless.

John walked around the room, leaving Stiles on display and waiting, dragging it out for both of them. He even picked up his uniform pants briefly, pulling the belt from them slowly, and noticed Stiles tense at the sound, breath catching. He seriously thought about it for a second, the idea of laying stripes on that smooth white flesh, but as much as he was anticipating this, it seemed too much, too soon, as much as he knew she would love it, too. He wanted to make his daughter sob, sure, but he wanted to feel those cheeks below his own hand slowly start to heat, to feel and see her arch back for more. So he set the belt aside and walked back to the bed, to settle beside where her head lay over her crossed arms.

He reached down to touch Stiles’ bare ass gently, smiling when she jumped a little, though she had to know he was there.

“You know why I’m punishing you, baby?” John said softly, stroking her cheeks. 

“Because I acted slutty with Jackson yesterday?” she said, more question than statement.

“No, baby,” John assured her. “I’d never punish you for that. You are a slut. That’s just who you are.”

Stiles shuddered, and John noticed her rubbing herself forward, as if trying to hump the bed. 

“No,” John repeated. “I’m punishing you because little sluts like to be spanked. Isn’t that right?”

Stiles didn’t say anything for a second, just wiggled more against the side of the bed, as John let his fingers stray between her cheeks closer to her pussy. Ah, there it was, that hint of wetness.

“Yes, daddy,” Stiles said, gasping.

“What do you want daddy to do, sweetheart?” John asked, because he always loved to hear Stiles ask for what she wanted.

Stiles looked up, her eyes already welling (and John admired how much his little girl’s acting skills had improved over the years), and asked, hopefully, “Please spank me, Daddy?”

“Of course, baby,” John said and patted his leg. “Come across my lap.”

Stiles scrambled, not so elegantly, until she was laid out across his lap as directed, and John took a moment to admire what was before him.

He’d had plenty of occasion to see his son’s ass naked at this point, had spent nearly as much time splitting those cheeks with his cock. But somehow, right now, this ass in front of him, belonging however temporarily to his daughter, framed by the skirt and panties, it looked more vulnerable, sweeter. Not sexier, John didn’t think that was possible, but sexy in a different way.

“Oh, Daddy,” Stiles said suddenly, as if surprised. “Why is your thing all hard?”

John rolled his eyes at the cheesy dialog, but he figured they’d already committed to the bad porn set-up all morning, so they might as well go with it. “Because Daddy loves to spank his little girl’s bottom as much as she loves getting it. Now, count them out for me, honey.”

The first spank was relatively light, John had seen Stiles take far harder from both Jackson and Peter, but she still jolted as if she’d been shot. “One, Daddy,” she said.

He brought his hand down about the same amount of force the second time, but still Stiles squealed, “Ow, two, Daddy. Not so hard!” she begged.

There was no sign of her safeword or signal of real distress, and he still was only barely tapping her, so he ignored his daughter’s plea, and brought his hand down again, this time on her left cheek.

It went on, to 10 spanks, to 15. Stiles counted them out, her growing sobs eliciting nothing but throbs from John’s prick as it leaked into his sleep pants, no sense of the guilt which he thought sure he should feel at making his own child cry. But he could feel Stiles’ cock, too, leaking and throbbing into her panties against his leg, and suddenly he wanted that, wanted his little girl to come just from this, from being spanked over his knee, to watch those red cheeks clench together when she came, unable to control it anymore. 

“Five more, little slut,” John decided, though his hand was already sore (he’d have to build up his own tolerance for it, he thought to himself).

Stiles sobbed against the sheets of the bed and looked over her shoulder at him, begging, “No, please, Daddy.” But there was still no safeword, so John merely pinned her down more securely, and contemplated these last five spankings. Part of him wanted to rip her panties off and make Stiles spread her legs, maybe even hold herself open so he could spank her right across her slutty little pussyhole, where it would hurt the most and so damn good. He’d do that later, at some point, because he’d be damned if this was the last time he’d do this with his daughter, but he knew if he did it now, he’d be just as likely to come with her, and he didn’t want the chance to miss fucking his little girl for the first time.

Instead, he raised his hand high, and brought it down harder than ever before, admiring how the cheeks went from white to red again as the blood rushed back into them. “Count, babygirl,” John said sternly.

“Sixteen,” Stiles said through her sobs, but John noticed how she raised her ass, as if begging for the next blow.

So he gave it to her, being the good daddy that he was. 

Another spank. “Seventeen, daddy!” Stiles cried.

“Eighteen!”

“Nineteen, Daddy, please stop,” she sobbed, but John knew it was for show, knew she was on the edge, so brought his hand down twice more–one to grow on–hard and in quick succession, then held his little girl as her orgasm shuddered through her, and she shot into her pretty pink panties. 

John cooed at his daughter as her sobs and orgasm subsided, lightly caressing her tender little ass as he admired how wonderful red it was. God, he wanted to be inside her right now. He waited, though, waited until she seemed to get her breath back, and thought how he wanted to do this.

He’d love to lie her face down and just sink in between her cheeks into that sweet little cunt there, so he could watch her ass and maybe smack it a couple more times, just to feel her clench up around him in pain. But he decided that’s not what he wanted right now, not the first time with his daughter, so he gently removed her wet panties, rolling them down her legs and off her feet, taking off her little pumps when he did so. He helped his daughter stand up between his legs and so he could assist her in removing her skirt and blouse, though he made her keep her bra on for now, and laid her face up on the bed, enjoying her wince as her tender ass met the sheets. 

As John got a closer look, he realized he’d been wrong about Stiles shaving everywhere: while his son had never been particularly hairy, there was now not a single hair anywhere below the neck on his daughter. Not even around her softening cock, which looked bare as a newborn. Whether that was a spell (and he had to grab his dick to keep from coming over the idea it might be permanent) or some more mundane method, he knew it was unlikely to be shaving that got everything.

“Daddy…” Stiles mewed, and John looked up at her face, no longer as perfectly made up from her crying during her spanking, but still pretty enough for him. 

“Yes, babygirl,” he asked, running his hands across Stiles’ skin to feel the smoothness of it. 

“Are you going to fuck me now?” Stiles asked coyly.

“Do you think I should, honey?” John asked, teasing, and ran the fingers of one down along her wet and soft dick, tickling it. “Looks like you already came. Might have to punish you again later for that,” he said, almost as if to himself, “since you didn’t come with a cock in you, like you’re supposed to.”

“Daddy!” she said indignantly, but didn’t otherwise object. “Please fuck my pussy, daddy,” she begged.

And damn if John could resist any longer, not that he wanted to, so he raised her legs, spread them wide, and sunk his cock for the first time into his little girl. 

Fuck she was tight, virgin tight, just the way Stiles always was, but he could imagine, right now, looking down into his daughter’s face as she cried out, even though her cock wouldn’t get hard for a while yet, he could imagine taking her cherry, the way he had his son’s, and he thrust hard into her, harder than he probably should, but kissed her tenderly to make up for it.

He kissed down her neck until he was between her breasts and he continued to thrust in and out of her pussy, kissing there between the cups of her bra and wishing this was real. He wished they were big enough to smother himself between as he fucked her, wished he could tit fuck his daughter and make her suck the top of his dick as he pushed between them. He sighed for the loss, but kissed his way back up her check to her neck as he fucked her.

He wouldn’t last long, he thought, as he kissed her. After the rough spanking and the extended tease of this morning–and last night–he knew it would be over quickly, but he wanted this, kissing his little girl, exploring her mouth as he explored her body with his cock, and thought, fuck, this couldn’t be better.

“Daddy,” Stiles gasped into his ear as he mouthed his way to her throat. “Daddy, make sure you pull out. I don’t want to get pregnant.”

Fuck, John thought, and slammed inside her as he shot like a rocket. 

He laid on top of his daughter for several minutes as his orgasm shook through him, occasionally thrusting again into her to milk out all of the sensations until he was too sensitive to continue and rolled over on to his back beside her.

“Fuck,” John gasped, trying to get his breath back. “You little shit.”

Stiles giggled, more masculine now and rolled over onto his front probably to relieve the pressure on his sore ass, and John was enough of a shit himself to pat him on the ass affectionately, eliciting a yelp.

“You’re one to talk,” Stiles said in his normal voice. “Twenty? Really? And those last really hurt.”

John chuckled as he reached his arm around his son to caress his back. He noted Stiles had somehow managed to remove his bra while John was recovering, so he toyed with one of his newly bared nipples. “This permanent?” he asked, not quite recovered enough to form full sentences.

Stiles looked down his own hairless body and shrugged. “More like, extended temporary. Jackson likes it, so we’ll see what the others think. And it is kinda sexy feeling, no hair anywhere.”

“Mmm,”John hummed in agreement, as he swept his hands down his boy’s body.

“So, success then?” Stiles smirked down at his father, leaning over to kiss him on his lips, John met him with more tongue than he might have expected, but let him go quickly.

“You say that like you think this is over,” John said and reveled in Stiles’ yelp when he slapped her ass playfully. “Now go put on something pretty, and I might take you out to lunch.”

Stiles grinned back at him and gave him another peck before she scrambled to her room to find something more (in)appropriate to wear.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Tumblr.


End file.
